Situations
by Oceans in Hand
Summary: Allen would be wondering how he'd winded up in this situation, but...Allen/A-lot-of-people, AU.
1. The 1st Situation

**The First Situation**

Allen _would_ be wondering how he'd winded up in this situation, but…he was somewhat distracted. Zokalo had him trapped against the floor, crushed between cold tile and a rock-hard torso. He can't fully expand his lungs—is perpetually short of breath but—for some reason…he really, really does not have a problem with this fact. The immense weight on his front, the painful press of his hips and shoulders against unyielding ceramic makes him want to writhe and purr.

Zokalo's half-hard prick is a hot weight pressing on his inside thigh. He wants to move against that heat, incite the man above him into frenzy—but, dude, he's a teacher, a grown man, and Allen's no jailbait.

He tries to ignore the saliva gathering around his tongue, swallowing noisily.

"U-um…Mr. Winters." Shit. His voice is rough with arousal to his own ears. _When in doubt, state the obvious_. "You're lying on top of me-"

He feels the older man's responding rumble in his chest, barely has the time register the move before Zokalo has stopped up his mouth with his tongue.

Allen stiffens in shock, arching his hips into the immense weight and bracing his hands against Zokalo's shoulders, pushing but—oh…g-god. A strangled groan makes it way through his throat, riding on a thin current of air from squashed lungs.

Distantly, Allen marvels at the difference. He's shared plenty of kisses—but this—he's not kissing Zokalo. He hesitates to think of it as _being_ kissed. He feels like a tower under siege, more than anything, as weird a comparison that is—

Zokalo's elbows rest on the floor at either side of his head. The larger man has his neck turned at an awkward and surely uncomfortable angle to reach Allen's mouth. He licks and sucks and bites; all Allen's allowed to do is hold his lips apart, mouth so wide his jaw begins to ache, and whimper as Zokalo's tough-skinned hands grip him firmly beneath his arms and lift him from ground. One hand support his ass, holding him up as Allen stumbles to adjusts to the change, hugging the big man's sides with his knees to steady himself and whining as his mouth is _attacked_ and he's so hard it's burning and—

The bell rings, and Zokalo unceremoniously drops him to his feet, turning to leave the showers even as he wipes saliva from the edges of his mouth.

Allen doesn't even try to stand. His knees buckle the moment his feet touch the floor, and he's still there, mouth red and debating how to deal with his hard-on when the fifth period gym class pours loudly into the locker rooms.

* * *

**:D**

**-Oceans**


	2. The 2nd Situation

**The Second Situation**

This, Allen thinks, is ridiculous.

No, wait. He's pretty sure this entire thing had passed that point the night before last, when he'd gotten off on images of his gym teacher fucking him.

Now, days after The Incident with Mr. Winters, he's crowded back against Marion Cross' desk, plywood digging uncomfortably into the small of his back and his hands, which had been so innocently placed, now pressed firmly beneath the professor's own, larger ones.

_Dr. Cross isn't even one of my teachers…_he protests weakly to himself, eyes rabbit-round and his lip bitten white as the taller man bends over him. Brings his nose to the hot space behind his ear, kept warm by his hair. Allen screws his eyes shut against the teasing of course facial hair scratching seldom-bothered skin. Damn, but he needs to get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend—it doesn't matter; his hormones are killing him.

"Winters was right," Cross rumbles thoughtfully, smile evident in his tone, and Allen's mind _boggles_.

_What the _hell_! What kind of school is this?_

Allen struggles half-heartedly; he doesn't think Cross is going to do anything seriously objectable (Um.), and if he's being completely honest with himself…but he's not. Cross has one long-fingered pianist's hand fitted snug around the shape of one buttock and a thumb tucked beneath the waistband of his school-issued trousers. The second is cupped almost tenderly around the back of his neck.

He swallows thickly, feeling Cross' fingers move with his throat as he does. The man's hands are so wide, his fingertips reach almost back to the front of his neck.

"Right about what." Allen squeaks. The moment his decides to speak is the same instant Cross leans heavily, lazy, into him with a contented sigh like a predator settling down to play with its food.

"Hn." The professor grins against his cheekbone, guiding his face upwards with a thumb. He licks a long strip up the teenager's cheek. "He said you tasted good, Walker."

Allen spares a moment to wonder about the gossip network the administration has to have going, for one teacher to tell another that a _student_ _tastes good._ He'd told Komui crazy stuff happened at private school.

Cross' hands don't wander any further than his ass, and he never brings his mouth to Allen's. It's kind of amazing, really. The encounter is shockingly intimate compared to the hot and dizzying handful of minutes he'd spent held to Winters' chest, and when Cross steps back at the drone of sixth period bell, he's reluctant to leave.

**

* * *

****Mmer. Too lazy. Will edit later.**

**-Oceans**


	3. The 3rd Situation

**The Third Situation**

Allen Walker has attended Black Academy for two months. His adopted sister Lenalee and her antagonistic best friends don't find anything strange with the school—but then again, none of them have been molested by the any members of the teaching staff. Since that confusing, heart-pounding meeting in the music professor's third floor classroom, Allen has done his best to steer clear of the phys ed teacher, Mr. Winters, and Dr. Cross.

Considering Mr. Winters wasn't his gym teacher, and he didn't even _take _a music course, one might naturally think his plan would prove successful. One might also be wrong.

Zokalo Winters was the head of his department; he didn't teach any of the six gym classes, nor any of the three weight-training courses. He didn't coach any of Black Academy's seven competitive sports teams either. As best as Allen could tell, he did a lot of organizing and substituting. He was often seen tiding up the equipment closet, or straightening the pile of gymnastic mats in the corner of the gym. He sat in for Dr. Nine, Allen's history professor once, though that had been before the Incident.

Similarly, Ph.D Marion Cross only taught on occasion. He did a lot with the drama department, and gave private lessons before and after school. He supposedly taught a few periods in the second semester, but Allen only knew this secondhand. He was rarely away from the third floor, where all of the music classrooms were located as well as his office, and Allen didn't have any classes on that floor.

Allen is understandably surprised when both men manage to (he assumes deliberately) insinuate themselves into his schedule. Suddenly, Zokalo's lost a bet or something, and is stuck with cafeteria duty for two weeks straight. Cross wanders the hallways and the grounds, humming and peering into (Allen's) classrooms curiously. Allen rushes from the locker rooms after P.E., tie askew and half-buttoned, because Mr. Winters is 'concerned about thieves'.

He is pulled into the alcove by the second floor stairwell that Lenalee once called, giggling, the Kissing 'Clove by Cross on his way, late, to third period Eastern Basic. He emerges only a little mussed, one half of his collar flipped up and the other tugged aside where Dr. Cross had seen fit to bite. Only hours later on the same day, Zokalo snatches him to his side as he tries to exit to the gym, forces his face up and kisses him so fiercely that afterwards Allen still feels the ghost of his tongue, swiping at his gums and probing the underside of his own.

He is thoroughly weirded-out, to say the least, and wishes he had someone to tell. Lenalee, his usual confidant—he can't even imagine her reaction. Would she humor him? He's not sure she would believe the story he had to tell. Lavi wouldn't take him seriously, and Kanda would give him that 'you're an insect, why are you talking to me, go away' look he was so familiar with—and besides, neither of those two were really _his_ friends.

Allen considered himself well liked. He was friendly and approachable, and he loved to talk to people. He had friends all over the school—but, he still, mysteriously, had no one he felt confident in confiding to.

At least not about getting jumped repeatedly by his teachers.

* * *

**Eastern Basic is a language, a foreign one in Allen's case. The world this fic takes place is Earth, but not. Different history, different geography, same technology :)**

**-Oceans**


	4. The 4th Situation

**The Fourth Situation**

The blinds of every window are raised to the ceiling, as they usually are in Dr. Nine's classroom. A student two seats over is wiggling their pen back and forth, frequently bouncing light squarely into Allen's eyes.

He doesn't really, _really _mind. As long as he's occupied fantasizing about throwing his own pencil at the other girl's head, he's not choosing the wrong answer to question six on his quiz.

_6. Who, contrary to public opinion at the time, initiated the Second Crop War between Tin City and Dursa?_

_a) __Dursa  
__b) __the Clans of the Northern Steppes  
__c) __Tin City  
__d) __Iedtih_

He doesn't have a clue, but if he had to guess (and he does have to), he'd bet on the notoriously corrupt Tinners.

A shadow passes over his desk, providing momentary relief from the glaring flashes as Dr. Nine, making her rounds, breezes silently by his elbow, but for her softly clicking heels. There is the clatter of cheap plastic—a pen, Dr. Nine's—hitting the wood floor, and Allen looks up.

He is greeted by the sight of Dr. Cloud's ass, pleasantly apple shaped and hugged so tightly by her smart, black penskirt that Allen is now uncomfortably aware of the fact that she's going Commando.

Commanda.

Allen has never paid Dr. Cloud Nine much attention. He knows, objectively, that she is very attractive. He knows that the student body as a whole finds her name a source of unending entertainment. He knows that Lavi thinks she has amazing tits.

He's never looked at them himself, though. Because she's a teacher, and an adult. Admittedly, these two things have grown to mean considerably less in the past eight weeks, but…

Speaking of butt.

Dr. Nine has straightened, and has fixed a decidedly hawkish stare on him. Allen reddens, and begins to fumble for an explanation—though he has no idea what he plans to say—when she stops him with only a shake of her head, and a pointed look at his quiz.

He thinks about rushing the windows to count his lucky stars, but settles for bubbling in answer C for number six. His luck seems to run abruptly dry, however, when Dr. Nine's soft, but firm voice stops him on the way out the door.

"Mr. Walker, please remain after class."

Whimpering silently to himself, he does. Allen leans back into the middle desk of the front row and waits until the last student leaves, closing the door behind herself.

For a long minute, the room is quiet except for the irregular scratch of Dr. Nine's fountain pen. Allen fidgets nervously until she lowers it with a sigh and rises from her seat, coming to mirror his leaning posture against her own desk.

She studies him thoughtfully, lifting herself to settle comfortably on her desk. Allen notices how she sits straight-backed, as if supported, and how the position pushes her (Lavi had it right) amazing breasts out.

He also notices something he hadn't before when she smoothes her skirt primly: there is a thin, dully shining zipper which runs down the length of her skirt. Allen follows that line of it to where it ends, just beneath her knees, and looks up again to see that Dr. Nine has been watching him. Holding his eyes blithely, she reaches out and grasps the zipper.

The sound of its teeth releasing is deafeningly loud in the sunlit room. Allen's heartbeat is pounding away in his throat, and he's already begun to harden. The zipper climbs higher and higher, until the only thing that hides Nine's naked crotch is the shadow of her skirt. Allen stares fixedly at that shadow, and blames it on being a guy.

"Come here, Mr. Walker." Dr. Nine says, as crisp, as coolly as if they were in the middle of class, and Allen approaches as if drawn by a string, stopping in the V of her spread knees.

She extends a hand, palm up, and it takes him a moment to realize what she wants. When he does, he places his hand in hers and watches as if from outside the situation as she covers it with her own, and brings them both down to the shadow.

His fingers shake and for a bright, endless moment, Allen doesn't feel anything. He doesn't register what's beneath his fingers. When he does it's a mix of—and—Heat. Rough, short hair. His fingers moved gently downwards (Nine's soft, hitching moan when he grazes a nub he's only somewhat familiar with) to wetness and slick, soft skin, softer than anything he can remember touching.

Dr. Nine directs his movements, helps him to find her sweet spots and the rhythms she likes until she climaxes, gasping.

Her cheeks are flushed prettily, and three strands of blonde hair have worked free of her bun, and now hang in front her eye. She's shaky on her heels when she pushes off the desk to stand, and gripes the wood tightly.

"That will be all, Mr. Walker." The tremor in her voice is so slight he could almost think he'd imagined it.

"Can I…" Allen swallows. His mouth is running purely on autopilot, as his brain is still focused on his shorts. "…have a note to class?"

Dr. Nine inspects the clock over the whiteboard, and says, "I'm sure you can make it if you hurry."

Then she turns back to her desk as if he weren't there, shuffling papers and putting on her reading glasses.

Allen stumbles bemusedly away.

* * *

**Eek! Scary het! :D Who was expecting that?**

**Also, more hints of my Earth-but-not world. Tin City is a mobsters' city styled after Camorr and Gotham, and is the setting for an AU Supernatural fic I've been working on *beams**

******-Oceans**  



	5. The 5th Situation

**The Fifth Situation**

_Allen is on his knees beneath a table. He's naked, except for his striped, black and silver uniform tie. At first he doesn't recognize the table, distinctive though it is. Before he realizes his lack of clothing the chill makes him think of the stainless steel ones in Dr. Yeagar's chemistry lab, but it's the deep, dried bloody color of the heavy, dusty tablecloth by his head that clues him in._

This is the table in the auditorium_. The long one where all of the teachers sit while the Headmaster speaks. _

_ As if on cue, the droning noise in the back of his mind that had previously been ignored becomes the Headmaster's booming voice, detailing his expectations concerning the students' behavior at the rally next week._

_ Allen blinks, hazy, feeling sleepy and a little slow. He's naked…and under a table…there's something wrong with this…_

_ He worries with the thing in his mouth as he wonders, trying to figure what's so strange about this situation…And with the crystalline sound of glass being struck, several things become apparent at once._

_ He's under a table._

_ He's naked under a table._

_ He's naked, under a table in a roomful of people._

_ He's naked, under a table in a roomful of people with a _dick_ in his mouth._

_ The only reason Allen is able to check his reflex to _bite_, is because he's a guy, and he knows how much a Bad Thing that would be. _

_ The hand in his hair that he hadn't, till now, registered, tightens its fingers to his scalp and tugs impatiently. Allen can't tell from the pants, or the shoes, and obviously not by the dick exactly who it is he's sucking on. Strangely, however, he forgets why this is objectable a heartbeat later. _

_ Allen's dated guys, and he's dated girls. He's gotten off with some of those guys and girls before. But the few times he's given head before weren't to such…developed men. The warm weight of the cock that stretches his mouth is…_

_ …is nice. _

_ The smell of the region his nose is just inches from is heady and thick; it makes him unusually conscious of his own heartbeat, makes his breathing slow and his eyelids droop with arousal. He wants to touch himself _so badly_…and nothing's stopping him, come to think of it. _

_ With a moan of relief that's more vibration than sound, he drops his hands to his lap and greets himself with a firm squeeze._

_ The man he's crouched before shuffles his legs and slumps a little in his seat, spreads his knees further and attempts to pull Allen in closer. _

_ Allen gently takes more, until the head pokes the back of his mouth uncomfortably, and sucks and licks clumsily until the fingers tighten brutally and drag him off. The man aims his pulsing cock and spreads rapidly cooling semen over his lips, _

In Dr. Kevin Yeagar's fourth period chemistry, Allen sleeps with his head on his arms, his breath whistling through his nose, as the professor discusses the homework. He nuzzles the table, metal grown warm from his exhalations, and wiggles in his seat, adjusting for his erection.

* * *

**(Am I obligated to figure out where this story is going, or can I just keep writing implausible smut?)**

**Yay for kinkiness, btw.**

**-Oceans**

**Edited, because I made Allen seem much more inexperienced than I'd meant to D: (Author is sick of virginal!Allen.)**


	6. The 6th Situation

**The Sixth Situation**

After a few more assaults and…dreams, Allen admits that, whether she'll believe him or not, he has to tell Lenalee.

He spends the weekend trying to figure out _how_, though, and chickens out. Monday comes, and as he sits next to her in sixth period study hall, half-listening to her idle talk, he changes his mind.

Instead he tries to imagine what she would tell him. Not for the first time, but unlike the others, he actually finishes the conversation this time. He imagines, she'll blink at him. Her fingers will stop picking at whatever she's holding (a bad habit), and she'll make that skeptical look she gives Lavi whenever he recounts his Spring Break in the Cayan Isles last year. She might tell him to call the police.

Allen looks thoughtfully at his pillow case. There's a darkened spot by his nose: a faded stain from where his roommate spilled coffee.

"I don't really want to," He says to it thoughtfully, picturing Lenalee as she sits beside him in Eastern Basic.

_ Well…you could always…reciprocate?_

Allen pauses.

There's a thought.

Allen imagines Lenalee will shake her head the way she sometimes does, as if trying to wiggle something back into place, and that will be the end of the conversation.

Reciprocate.

Well, he _hadn't_ been masturbating quite so often, lately, which his roommate was happy about. Why not?

Adults. Illegal. Teachers. Stupid.

Allen grins at the stain, thinking, _they started it_.

* * *

**Filler chapter :)**

**-Oceans**


	7. The 7th Situation

**The Seventh Situation**

When Black Order Academy's resident artist cum professor, Fiore Tiedoll, asks Allen to come by his room at the end of the day, he thinks nothing of it. It's not unusual; the professor likes to give private critique then, when the school is quite and the classroom empty.

Allen is standing, frozen in the doorway, shocked-still by the sight before him. The weight of Professor Tiedoll's hand, before paternal and comfortable, changes, and Allen feels the warmth from it seep through his clothing.

The room is dark. Heavy curtains he's never seen pulled before obscure the windows to such a degree that not a sliver of light makes it through. The bank of heat lamps along one length of the room are glowing red-orange, and the kennel at the far end, a device as tall as Allen, is humming quietly, and burning.

The room is swelteringly hot. Allen can feel his skin prickling, sweat already beginning to bead.

At the far end of the room, Dr. Nine's blonde hair hangs from a table and swings, hypnotic, in time with the movement of Mr. Winter's lower body. One of her hands is cupped over her breast—the other positioning her fingers at her clit. They make a soft chorus: Nine's soft, hitching purrs and the occasional gasp and whine, woven through with Zokalo's rhythmic grunts.

Allen's mouth is abruptly as dry as paper. Tiedoll gently pushes his shoulder, none-too subtly directing him closer to the pair, neither of which acknowledge them. The professor leads him past, and stops by the next table in the row.

Upon which Cross is sitting—lazing, really, his shirt open and pants clumsily half-fastened, an unlit cigarette pinched lightly between his lips and a smug-satisfied, post-coital heat in his eye. He nods, smirking, at Tiedoll, and pats the space of table to his side.

"Fiore." He says.

The older man smiles a smile that Allen is familiar with from his classes. "Marion," he returns kindly.

Allen complies with Tiedoll's unspoken direction, lifting himself onto the table. His balance has yet to settle when Cross jerks him to his chest and assaults his mouth.

The kiss is more teeth and tongue than any they've shared before, and after a moment to overcome his surprise, Allen returns it with as much teenage fervor as he can muster. Cross hums with approval, a sound like a big cat that makes Allen shudder and moan, and move to get closer. He braces a hand against bare abdominal muscles, and arches inward when one large palm moves up his spine, having slipped beneath his untucked shirt. Arms come to circle around him, and hands—Tiedoll's—pluck at his buttons with intent. Carefully, but with surprising speed, the professor unfastens them, and guides the shirt down his arms. Allen makes an irritated sound when his hands are pulled away, but sighs, blissful, as a large amount of skin is suddenly in direct contact with his.

Cross reclines in stages, pulling the unresisting student to rest atop his chest. He hangs one arm, boneless, from the table, his cigarette held between loose fingers. The other hand tangles in Allen hair's, holding his face close.

Not that Allen was trying to go anywhere. This 'Reciprocate' plan was going _really_ well.

Tiedoll smoothes a hand down his back, calluses catching on milk-white skin, and tucks his fingers snugly beneath Allen's belt. Uncontested, he slides them around to the front and fumbles with the fastenings of his pants. Cross makes a pleased noise when those fingers move inadvertently against his hardness.

There is a soft sound as the cigarette is allowed to drop to the ground, and Cross steadies them both with a hand to Allen's shoulder blade. The second pushes past the loose band of his trousers, and a fingertip pushes curiously against his asshole.

Allen bites at Cross' lips and shifts, not away from the pressure, but not towards it either. Cross moves the touch to the span of flesh beneath his balls, stroking lightly. Tantalizing sparks spread from the contact.

Tiedoll's hands, gripped so high up on his thighs as to be just beneath the rise of his bottom, squeeze.

Nine makes a long, breathy, keen as Zokalo thrusts ruthlessly into her a final time, and groans raggedly. Allen shudders as Tiedoll's and Cross' hands fondle him, and begins to fumble, panting, for something of his own to squeeze.

He is brought to climax three times: once by Tiedoll's hand, once on Cross' thigh, and once as Nine ground her sopping cunt against him. Before he leaves, his ass is probed several more times, and each time he goes longer before twitching away.

Slumping back to his dorm afterwards, his body trembling, loose, sex-happy and not listening to him, Allen grins to himself.

Guess he knows what to expect next time.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay on this update :) I got held up by the crazy idea that I needed to introduce plot D:**

**By the way, this story is not actually complete (obviously), but it's not really incomplete either. Because there _is_ no plot, it's pretty much complete whenever I stop updating =/ Sorry for how inconvenient that is.**

**-Oceans**


	8. The 8th Situation

**The Eighth Situation**

Allen had suspected something like this would happen when he'd hidden away in the library until well after lights-out—that's kind of why he did it. It's not like he actually thought his chemistry homework was worth the punishment he risked if another teacher discovered him.

Sexual gratification was a another story

Allen screws his eyes shut, grasping desperately at the short carpet fibers and scraping the pads of his fingers.

Winters is mapping out Allen's perineum with his tongue.

Allen's shoulders are dragging against the carpet. His back is bent in an unfortunate curve, one which is halfway between a C and an S and not quite either. Zokalo holds him steady with a bruising hold around one thigh and thumbs his sphincter with a teasing pressure, not penetrating, with the other hand.

Allen's straining, leaking cock drips precome on his chest, and leaves shining swipes when it bounces off his belly. He moans piteously into his tie when it swings.

Zokalo has been driving him higher and higher for what feels like _forever _now, and even though Allen knows it hasn't actually been that long, he's sure it's been at _least_ half an hour. Probably more. That's a disgustingly long time to be riled without release—of any kind.

At this point if Winters said he wanted to fuck him to climax, Allen would beg for it.

His neck is killing him, and his upper back will be a mess of carpet burns before this is finished. His fingers are raw from pulling uselessly at the tough, industrial carpet, and his leg muscles ache from the angle at which they hang and the length of time they have. His pelvis is sore. His thigh will bruise from Zokalo's iron grip. His jaw has begun to protest the prolonged accommodation of his wadded up school-tie. _And he still hasn't gotten off._

Winters massages his thumb against his hole, circles it and alternates pressure randomly. He curls his hot tongue around one testicle and touches his teeth to it so gently it could be imagined. The tip of his nose grazes Allen's dick, and he whines and tries to move after the faint contact.

Tip of the tongue to the space between his balls and penis, a ghost of a touch up the vein. Finger at his asshole, pushing but not _going anywhere. _Teasing, teasing, teasing. Allen wants to scream.

Until Zokalo pulls away with a small, torturous slurping sound and sits back in his chair, groaning. The angle couldn't have been fun for him either. Allen has no pity for him. He's close to tears now, so desperate for orgasm. His hips twitch aimlessly, and he's so hard it hurts.

Zokalo's narrowed eyes gleam down at him; it's the only way Allen can tell for certain that they're focused on him. He's has never been the most expressive man in the world—but now he radiates an infuriating smugness, though his face is clear. Allen bites viciously at the tie, now soaked through with saliva, and squirms.

"You know the rules, Walker. All students must be in their dorms by lights out." He rumbles, his voice enough to make Allen whimper. "You are no exception; these are the repercussions."

Allen howls in frustration; it filters through the gag and comes out as a loud, grating groan. Zokalo's hold on his leg tightens warningly.

"I could leave you like this." The teacher says in a vaguely considering tone. "Or," Zokalo raises his voice over Allen's indignant squawks. "We call this a warning, and you make better decisions in the future."

Here Winters looks down at him, and—shockingly—grins so wolfishly and open that Allen bucks hard. It's the first significant display of emotion he's seen from him, even heard of him showing.

Zokalo bends over him again and deliberately breathes hot breath against his quivering erection.

"Will you obey the rules, Walker?"

Allen nods heartily.

The grin sharpens; Allen groans.

"Good boy."

He stands halfway from the chair and pulls Allen's hips with him, arranging them so he is looking straight up through his legs at his teacher. His own semen drips hot onto his cheeks—and Allen has an inkling of what Zokalo intends. The thought makes him shake with wanting.

Winters jacks him then.

It only takes a half dozen strokes from his hand, its grip warm and firm and slightly scratching from calluses. Zokalo pulls the tie from his mouth and tosses the soggy scrap to the side; Allen leaves his mouth open, fights the urge to extend his tongue. He comes with a scream, shooting—as Winters had arranged—mostly onto his face. Allen catches half a mouthful, startling at the hot, salt tang.

He goes limp and panting and Zokalo stumbles, but holds him up, his grip becoming painfully tight. He milks a little pool of white from Allen's tingling, overly-sensitive penis and laps it from his palm.

Allen, watching, would bite his lip at the sight if he had even that much energy left. His limbs are noodles. Leaden, unresponsive noodles. The corner of Zokalo's mouth quirks, hinting at that grin, but he seems to resist.

He reaches and smears the cooling semen on Allen's cheek, rubs with his thumb in a gesture that smacks frighteningly of affection, and stands straight.

"Remember the rules Walker." He says, obviously, deeply amused, and leaves.

Allen hears the library door close behind him, and rolls his head to look uselessly at the pile of his clothing, a few feet away.

He still can't move.

* * *

**I love this chapter so much :3**

**-Oceans**


End file.
